Begin Again
by wedontstandachance
Summary: Cas is human now. He doesn't have a soul so when he dies he can't go to Heaven or Hell. Enter Destiel Reincarnation story.
1. Part I

Part I

They finally break on a Thursday. It's almost fitting.

Castiel, being the former Angel of Thursday, has always been quite fond of the day; but now, more so.

After years and years of _would be's_ and _what ifs_, after dancing around each other, skirting the issue at every turn, never going beyond the facade they'd both created; they simply can't take it anymore.

They'd wasted too much time. There'd been too much pain. And finally, finally they were both done with that. It couldn't be said what had changed, but something had. Their dynamic was altered, and they could both feel it.

It's by wordless agreement. They just look at each other, and they can both see it. It's over. It's all over. And they come crashing together like waves.

It's all hot mouths and burning kisses that set their skin on fire. Clothes come off, and then more clothes, and more; and why do they both wear so many layers? And soon it's only bare skin between them. And Castiel hasn't felt this alive since he became human. And the big grin on Dean's face probably means that he's feeling about the same.

When it's over—or maybe he should say when it starts—Dean wonders aloud what took them so long. But they both know. On Castiel's part it was not understanding that he even had the capacity to love, or what that even meant. And for Dean, it was equal parts bouts of alcoholism and denial. But they got there. In their own time. They got there.

Castiel smiles lazily and tells him it took that long to break through Dean's barrier of macho-posturing that could be equated to the Great Wall of China. But instead, it was the Great Wall of Heterosexuality and Denial. Dean punches him in the arm, but he's smiling.

Everything still sucks. They still have to deal with the fallen angels. They still have to hunt. But they're happy. They're _happy_.

And that's something.

* * *

><p>They tell Sam on the same Thursday. They don't want to wait. They don't want to keep this from him.<p>

And Sam is happy for them. Enthusiastically so. He'd apparently called it years ago.

If that was the case Castiel almost wishes that he would have clued his brother in somewhere along the way. Then they wouldn't have wasted so much time. But he knows these wants are futile. Dean had to come to terms with this on his own, and any goading from Sam would only have pushed him further away. And Castiel had needed his time too. Everything had played out like it had for a reason. Exactly how it was meant to.

For the first time in a long time, Castiel has faith again.

* * *

><p>Castiel comes back to his room at the bunker one Tuesday afternoon to find it empty. He hadn't collected many possessions during his time as a human so far, but without his few items that he had the room is bare and lonely. A quick walk down the hall finds Dean arranging—and rearranging—Castiel's meager possessions on his desk. A lighter (although he doesn't smoke, Dean just says it's important to keep one on himself at all times; he had another in his pants pocket), a seashell he found when they worked a case near a beach that he thought was pretty, and a copy of the bible he bought at a used bookshop (he likes to keep it as a reminder of what he used to be).<p>

Dean's moving the items around, trying to get them _just so_, handling each one with great care. Like they're precious artifacts, and not just junk the Castiel had picked up along the way. That makes him smile.

He does a quick sweep of the room with his eyes. He spies his clothing in the open top drawer of Dean's dresser, and his shoes arranged next to the closet. His trench coat, though he'd long stopped wearing it, is draped over the back of the desk chair. His pillow has also been placed on the bed next to Dean's. _Hm._

He watches from the doorway for another moment, suppressing a smile that's trying to work its way across his lips. Dean is frowning at the arrangement he'd set up on the desk, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

Castiel clears his throat, and Dean whips around and locks eyes with him. He stands frozen for a moment. Then he smiles somewhat sheepishly.

"Guess I've been caught," he says with a light shrug.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asks coming into the room and moving to Dean's side.

"Just, uh, moving your stuff in here," Dean says rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yes, I can see that," Castiel says. "But why?"

A pink tint inches its way across Dean's skin. "Well, I mean, we're like together now. I just figured we'd start sharing just make things easier. . ." He trails off uncertainly. But Castiel is smiling.

"Is that okay?" Dean asks.

And Castiel leans in and kisses him, because _yes_, yes it's okay. Everything's okay.

* * *

><p>"What will happen to you when you die?" They're lying in bed, side by side, and Dean is looking up at him with half lidded eyes. It's a Sunday.<p>

Castiel turns to him with an arched eyebrow, because that's not the kind of pillow talk they usually engaged in. And he's knows full well that Dean would punch him in the jaw if he ever referred to it as 'pillow talk' out loud.

"Not that I'm letting you die anytime soon," Dean quickly follows up. "I'm just wondering. Now that you're human. Where do you go?"

Castiel tips his head back and rests it against the headboard. "Ah," he says. "Well, I don't have a soul. So I won't be able to go to Heaven or Hell. Or even Purgatory. Truth be told, I'm not exactly sure. I suppose my essence would recycle and start anew. Or maybe I'd just cease to exist." He gives a shrug. He hadn't given much thought to it before now.

Dean acts as if he hadn't heard the last part. "So like reincarnation?" he asks.

"I suppose you could call it that," Castiel agrees.

Dean mulls over this new information for a few moments. "Is that possible for us folks with souls?" he asks.

Castiel squints at him again, but answers nonetheless.

"I've heard of it happening before, but it's very rare," Castiel tells him. "Heaven is personally tailored for each soul. That's the whole point of everyone having a personal heaven. But, if you can't find true peace in heaven, the soul can get sent back to Earth for rebirth. It's almost like a redo, I suppose. But like I said, it's very rare."

Dean nods. "Okay," he says.

"Why?" Castiel asks, squinting his eyes at Dean even further.

Dean gives a small smile and shrugs. "Just curious is all. But don't go getting any ideas. You aren't dying on me anytime soon." He points an accusatory finger at him playfully. "That's an order."

Castiel gives him a funny sort of smile. He'd been working on that since becoming human, expanding his range of facial emotions. It was amazing what a single twitch of a muscle could convey in human communication. He was getting better at it he thought. "Yes, Dean," he tells him. "Of course."

* * *

><p>But, of course, things don't always work out the way we'd like them to.<p>

Castiel dies on a Thursday. That's almost kind of fitting too.

It was a hunt gone bad. Of course it was. What else would it have been?

Castiel was still learning how maneuver as a human, how to fight, how to defend himself. He'd been doing well, learning fast. But this time, he was too slow. And the werewolf ripped open his chest with a swipe of its claws. He never stood a chance.

But once Dean saw, once he realized, the werewolf never stood a chance either.

"No!" Dean screams as he comes barreling towards them. The werewolf bears it's fangs as Castiel crumples to the ground. It's amused. It's enjoying his pain. His pain. White, hot, searing. Worse than any pain he's ever felt before, and he'd been literally exploded once, so that was saying something. Under all the agony, he faintly wonders if this is what it feels like to die. Probably.

Dean is on the monster almost in an instant, tearing, stabbing, shooting; Castiel isn't sure because he's having trouble focusing. It sounds violent though. He feels like the world is moving in slow motion around him. It's like he's underwater.

Then Sam is at Castiel's side, crouching down next to him, pressing his hands to the gaping wounds in Castiel's chest, trying to stop the bleeding. "Cas, man," he says. "Hold on. It'll be alright." But it was too much. Too much blood. He was already starting to drift.

It passes through his mind that if he was still an angel he'd be able to heal himself. But he's not an angel anymore. He's a human. And he's bleeding to death.

And then Dean's there, throwing himself down next to Sam and practically ripping Castiel away from him, pulling him onto his own lap instead. "Cas!" he chokes out. _Dean_. Dean's voice. It helps him surface.

Castiel looks up at him. He's covered in blood, like Castiel. But Dean's not covered in his own blood. It's the werewolf's blood. And maybe some of Castiel's. There's so much.

Dean shrugs off his flannel quickly, shushing Castiel the whole time. He's starting to make some pained, gurgling noises. Blood comes from his mouth, and even more pours out of his chest. How can the human body even have this much blood?

Dean presses the flannel to Castiel's chest, trying to stop the bleeding. And Castiel cries out in pain. But it's no use. It's too much, too fast. Castiel can see panic starting to build in Dean's eyes. And Sam watches helplessly. Everything is starting to get blurry.

"Hey," Dean says soothingly, brokenly, doing everything he can to hold it together. "You're gonna be fine, okay?" Castiel wants to tell him he doesn't have to pretend, but he can't find his voice.

Dean turns to Sam. "Get the car!" he barks. "We have to get him to a hospital!"

"Dean," Sam said softly, pressing his mouth into a thin line. He's shaking his head slowly, realization settling into his expression. He isn't under any illusions that Castiel is making it out of here.

"Go, Sam!" Dean growls.

And he does. But not before he gives Castiel a meaningful look. Like a goodbye. Like a thank you.

Castiel tries to give a similar look back, but he can barely breathe. He can barely think. He's drowning.

Dean turns back to him. His eyes are wild, lost.

Castiel lets out a harsh breath. It hurts all over "Dean," he rasps.

Dean shushes him again. "Sam's getting the car. We're gonna get you help. It's all going to be okay." Castiel is pretty sure that he's trying to reassure himself more than anything.

Because Castiel already knows how this ends. Because he's died before—a few times actually. But then again, it was never like this. As an angel he always managed to come back. But he wasn't an angel anymore.

This was how his time as being a human would end, with a human death. How very mortal.

The edges of his vision are turning black, and he can feel himself slipping away.

He reaches out a hand, but it makes contact with only air before it falls back against the ground with a soft thump. Dean gets the idea and quickly wraps his free hand— the one that isn't futilely trying to stop the blood pouring out of Castiel's chest—in Castiel's.

"Cas," Dean says. It's more like a sob. It's the most broken he's ever heard him sound. And also the last thing he hears him say.

Castiel gives his hand a weak squeeze. "Dean," he says again. And then he sleeps.

**AN: This is part one of two parts. The next part will be out within the next few days!**


	2. Part II

When he wakes up, it's a Monday, and he isn't Castiel former Angel of the Lord anymore. He's a brand new person. He has a new name, new face, a new life.

So it ends up not being oblivion waiting for him, but rather rebirth. The beauty of that is lost on this new him, because he doesn't remember anything from before. Not being an Angel of the Lord. Not saving the world. And most importantly, tragically, not the Winchesters. Which means he doesn't even think the wonder how they dealt with his death. How Dean dealt with his death. Because he doesn't remember him.

And he doesn't feel like he's missing anything either, because he doesn't remember that he is. But he is, he is.

So he goes on with his new life, lives it. He has a family that loves him in this life. A family who had been trying and trying to conceive. He's their miracle child apparently.

They have no idea.

He grows up, goes to college, becomes a tax account. The irony of that is lost on the new him.

* * *

><p>It's a Thursday, but he wishes that it was Friday.<p>

He's on his lunch break, leaving a coffee shop to head back to the office. He slept poorly the night before and needed a decent cup of coffee, because he sludge in the break room just wasn't going to cut it this time if he was going to make it through the rest of the day. He has two coffees in his hands; one for himself, and one for his co-worker Roger who had begged him to take pity on him when he heard where he was going. Roger is a good guy, so he was more than happy to get one for him.

He's distracted heading back out onto the sidewalk, and doesn't realize that he's walking right into the path of someone else who is also distracted; that is until he walks directly into them. Coffee splashes out of the top of the cup and onto his hand, and in that moment he's thankful for plastic lids, otherwise he'd have a much bigger issue.

"Oh, shit!" the man he'd walked into says. "Sorry, man. I didn't see you."

He looks up to tell the man that he shouldn't worry and that it was his own fault. But then he meets the man's eyes, and he drops his coffee to the ground. He somehow manages to keep a hold of Roger's coffee though. It splashes down onto his feet and onto his pants, but he can't care less. Because suddenly, he remembers. Even though five seconds ago he wasn't even aware he'd forgotten anything in the first place.

He too has a different face and he's younger, but his eyes, Castiel has existed for millennia—and these facts just drop right back into his head like they'd never left, his name, what he was—and he could never forget those eyes. The man standing in front of his is not the man he remembers—not in appearance at least—but those are the same green eyes he'd studied and memorized, in another life. His other life.

"Dean." The name falls off his lips before he can stop himself. And what was he thinking? Because he too has a different name now, a different life. He probably won't even remember. Or maybe it's not even him. A lot of people have green eyes. And why would it be him? He's happily tucked away in his own Heaven most likely. It's where he should be.

He quickly apologizes, because it's not him. _It's not._ "I'm sorry," he says. "My mistake. You reminded me of . . . someone. Someone I used to know."

The man is staring at him blankly, but Castiel swears that he can almost see the gears turning in his head. He shifts uncomfortably under the man's scrutinizing gaze—which is strange, because didn't he used to be the one on the other side of those kinds of looks? He moves to walk away, his own need for caffeine gone. He's wide awake now. But he still needs to bring Roger his, he'd promised. He gives the man an awkward nod, and turns away. But a hand on his shoulder pulls him back.

Slowly, he meets the man's gaze, and he now has the same look of awestruck recognition on his face that Castiel was sure mirrored his own.

And it can't be.

But it is.

"Cas?" It's a question. It's pleading.

"Dean," Castiel breathes again. And now he does drop Roger's coffee, because screw Roger and his need for caffeine.

And even as he stares at Dean, _his Dean_, he doesn't understand what's happening. Not even five minutes ago he was just getting coffee because he'd slept poorly the night before, and now he was reuniting with the long lost love he didn't even know that he had? And remembering a life—as an _angel_—that he'd forgotten he'd lived.

But all of that confusion and realization could wait, because Dean is standing in front of him. And it's like a piece of him that he hadn't realized was missing, was found. And he feels whole.

And they come together like they'd never even been a part in the first place.

* * *

><p>"How?" Castiel asks. Because he is Castiel even though he's really not anymore. And Dean is Dean. It doesn't matter that they have new names now. New everything. Nothing matters but them. Together.<p>

Things are coming back now, in flashes, all at once. It's terrifying and exciting at the same time.

Castiel didn't go back to work that afternoon. Neither did Dean. He apparently owns an auto body shop now. They went back to Castiel's because it was closer and unsurprisingly ended up in bed. Being like that, together, felt like coming home after being away for a long, long time.

Dean scrunches his forehead up. "I was in Heaven," he says. "I remember."

Castiel nods, encouraging him to continue.

"You were there. But not the real you. They were just memories. I knew it wasn't real. I wanted the real thing. And I remembered what you said about reincarnation." He smiles. "And now here we are."

"What about Sam?" Castiel asks. He can't fathom any situation that would allow Dean to leave his brother behind. Sam always came first. It's of the things Castiel loves about him. His complete devotion to his family.

Dean smiles wistfully. "Sam was in his Heaven. He had Jess, a dog, his own white picket fence. He was good. I found him, and I was able to say goodbye. He was happy for me. I knew I was gonna miss him like crazy, but the kid didn't need me anymore. He finally got that apple pie life he'd always wanted. I knew he was going to be okay." He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them they're shinning.

Castiel reaches out a hand and clasps Dean's. When Dean remembered his old life that morning that meant that he also remembered Sam, and what he left behind. He knows that it must be hard for him right now. And he can't help but feel responsible.

Dean looks over at him and gives him a real smile. "Hey," he says. "Don't go feeling guilty. I finally did something for myself. I wanted this. And I left Sam where I knew he'd be happy and safe. It's alright."

Castiel leans into him. He believes him.

"This is weird," he says.

"It is," Dean agrees with a laugh.

Castiel kisses him. "I missed you. I didn't know I did, but I missed you."

"Me too," Dean says. There are tears in his eyes. Castiel wipes them away.

"Don't," Castiel says. "Don't."

"I was so messed up when you died, Cas. I could barely function for months. Years. It was horrible. Every other time you died—man how fucked up does that sound?—but every other time, I knew you'd come back, deep down. But this time I knew you weren't going to. That was the worst part."

Castiel feels an overwhelming sense of guilt. He should have been there. Dean shouldn't have had to go through that. He wanted to know how long he'd had to endure it. How he'd handled it.

"How did you—" He wants to ask how Dean died, how Sam died. But at the same time he doesn't want to know.

"Die?" Dean finishes for him. "Believe it or not, we got old. Me and Sammy." He chuckles and shakes his head like he still can't believe it. Quite frankly, Castiel can't either. But he's glad. He's so glad. "After you, me and Sam kinda stepped back from hunting. My heart just wasn't in it anymore, and Sam had been wanting out for a while." Castiel reaches over and squeezes his hand. Dean smiles at him softly. "Hell, Sammy even got a dog. We were a couple of domestic bastards livin' out our days in the bunker. A heart attack is what got me. I guess Sam was right about my diet. But I never figured I'd live long enough for it to catch up with me. Sam died sometime after me in his sleep."

"I'm happy you got out," Castiel tells him.

"I'm happy I found you again," Dean says seriously. "What I'm still trying to wrap my head around is how we even found each other, or remembered each other for that matter. Shit's weird, right?"

"Well, we do share a profound bond," Castiel says with a tiny smirk.

Dean huffs a laugh and then punches him in the arm. "Don't you even think about ever doing that to me again! You are not allowed to die on me again, Castiel Angel of Thursday. You hear me?" He points an accusatory finger at him.

"Yes, Dean," he agrees. "Of course." Then he pulls him in close. "But at least we know now that we can always find each other."

"Yeah," Dean says and presses his lips to Castiel's forehead and smiles. "Thank god for that."

* * *

><p>And they do find each other. Every time. In every new life.<p>

Sometimes they're both very young and other times, very old. Sometimes they're different ages, genders. But it doesn't matter. None of that matters. All that matters is the two of them, together, like they should be.

And they can live with that.

Again, and again, and again, and again.


End file.
